Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men. The canon ideas and original characters (Charles Xavier, Kurt Wagner, Robert Drake, Jean Grey, Erik Lehnsherr, Tom Cassidy, Peter Rasputin, Sean Cassidy, and Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock) were created by Stan Lee and Marvel comics; therefore, X-Men belongs to them. Jennifer Kaneshige, David Forslund, and I co-own our original character David Forslund, but his nickname "Blacklight" belongs solely to me. I also created and own the characters Jet Black, Kristina James, Tamiko Kaneshige, Caleb Tucker, Deanna Barnes, Matthew James, Tina Andrews Black, Hanna "Evie" Black, Jason McCleod, Lauren "Sable" Shadoan, Dennis Owen, and any other character ultimately unrelated to the original Marvel universe. The song, "I Need a Hero", which is quoted here, does not belong to me. This story, "The Hunt for Black Tom", is © Kristina Jones 2003, and any plagiarism or copyright thereof without the explicit consent of the author is prohibited.

X-Men: "The Hunt for Black Tom"

"We all fall down. It's the getting back up that really counts. We live and we learn to help someone up when it's their turn. In life there's only one guarantee, your feet won't always be on the ground. Cause we all fall down." Diamond Rio, "We All Fall Down"


Chapter II: Of Break-ins and Runaways

The next few weeks flew by faster than any summer Kris could remember. The entire time was spent searching for a way to save David from the inevitable. While Jet spent every waking moment speaking to court official after court official, pleading for another appeal, Kris faced reality and devised a plan.

Standing in front of her wardrobe in Jet's guest bedroom, she ran a hand over a black trench coat that would have swept the floor if she were wearing it. Below it, on the wooden floor of the wardrobe sat two ebony colored boots, knee high and laced to the top. Staring at them intently, she bit her lip and shook her head. "Jet wouldn't like it," she muttered aloud to herself. But she still reached forward and fingered the coat, a hidden lust gleaming in her blue eyes.

"Why won't the Professor speak to you?" Jet suddenly asked from the doorway. His eyes had changed since the court, they were still their vibrant violet, but his pupils were no longer circular and small. Instead, they were thin, vertical ovals that stretched from the bottom to the top of his iris, appearing snake-like in the lamplight. Jolting from her reverie, she turned to him with a falsely flabbergasted look on her face. "You have been gone for almost ten years, and you haven't even bothered to go to New York to see everyone. Why?"

Shrugging, she looked back in the wardrobe to avoid his gaze and casually muttered, "The Professor doesn't approve of the person I've become. You see, I got into a lot of trouble over in Europe. Let's just say that I broke the law more times than Xavier can count, and he seemed to think that I was taking advantage of my abilities. And I don't feel like going back. I've grown up, my studies are finished. I have no need to go back there. I made no obligations that would require me to go back."

"You've made every obligation," Jet argued, taking a step into the room. "Professor Xavier pulled you out of a situation that no one would ever want to be in. He took you in when no one else would."

"What's your point?" she asked, her temper growing short.

Sighing in exasperation, he muttered, "You still don't get it, do you? He taught you what it meant not to be ashamed of yourself. He taught you who you really were."

"No, he didn't!" she shouted suddenly, slamming her fist on the wardrobe door. "I only found myself when I left that place. You forget, Jet, that I was in that place when I lost myself."

"How could you lose yourself, Kris!"

"My brother died before my eyes, Jet! And there was no way I could stop it," she yelled, striding to him, her face in his. Shaking her head angrily, she added, "And it wasn't anyone's fault but mine and that damned Charles Xavier who let him go through with it." Jet made to argue with her, but she interrupted him, saying, "Magneto would have never killed Matt if the Professor hadn't have let him go. Sure, he thought that Matt was ready to participate in a mission, but he wasn't. And I wasn't ready to let him go… I never will be." Tears on the edge of her eyes, she muttered, "That's what real pain is, Jet Black."

"Don't lecture me on real pain!" Jet cried, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "I lost my wife to a mad criminal! I can't even visit our only child but twice a year, and even then she doesn't recognize me. I know what pain is, because I will never get this dagger out of my heart!" Pushing her roughly to the floor, he screamed, "Don't you dare try to tell me what real pain is!"

Weeping with her head pressed to the carpet, Kris screamed in anguish and pounded her fist on the floor. "God, it's so unfair…" she whispered, her body shaking in sobs. Jet stared down at her, seething—his breath heavy between his tightly drawn teeth. Moments passed as he struggled with the hot tears in his eyes. His gaze softened and he took a step forward.

Bending down to her, he pulled her into an embrace and rocked her. Whispering, he said, "I know. I know."


On the eve before the execution date, Kris and Jet were no more closer to a solution as they sat outside at sunset at that chilly evening. Pacing to and fro along the deck, his boots clicking against the polished mahogany, Jet ran his hands through his raven hair, searching for a way to undo this dilemma. The sun was setting behind him, shining gold on the leather of his trench coat.

"We've thought through every option, and this is the only way." Kris argued as she sat in a chair, her dark blonde hair blowing with the wind.

Shaking his head, Jet muttered, "There must be another way out of this, Kris. I cannot do it like that."

Throwing up her hands in exasperation, she eyed him firmly and stated, "You see, you won't have anything to do with it. It will just be me. I've done numerous things like this. I already have a reputation as it is, and this won't be that big of a deal." A moment passed as Jet returned her stare, his eerie snake eyes boring into her. "They are just humans."

Holding up a hand to stop her, he shouted, "Please! Don't start talking like your father. There must be another way."

Running a hand over her face in annoyance, she stated, "Okay, nevermind. Forget I said any of it. If you want to abide by the law and let an innocent man die, so be it."

He looked over at her, his eyes scanning her doubtfully. After a moment, he inquired, "You won't interfere?" She shook her head, her hair flowing on a cushion of air. "You promise?"

Standing, she walked to him and said, "You know I don't make promises..." With that, she walked back into the house, closing the glass door slowly behind her.

Jet stared after her, his heart pounding loudly against his rib cage. Sighing, he put his hand to his forehead and struggled with a sob.

In the guest bedroom at the back of the house, Kris sat on the bed, staring intently at the telephone on the nightstand. Her fingers were fidgeting in her lap as she finally sighed and reached forward. Dialing in a number, she waited as it rang. "Come on, Kurt, pick up," she mumbled out-loud as it continued to ring.

Finally: "Guten Tag. Hier ist Kurt Wagner. Hello, this is Kurt Wagner," a man answered, causing Kris to sigh in relief.

"Hallo, Kurt. Hier ist das Phantom. Hello, Kurt. This is the Phantom," Kris replied, identifying herself, the German sliding over her tongue with fluent grace.

"Oh, wie schön! Oh, wonderful!" Kurt exclaimed excitedly. "Hallo, Kris. Ich habe gedacht, dass du früher mich angeruft hattest. I thought that you would have called me earlier." His accent was thick, and somewhat difficult to understand over the long distance phone line.

"Es tut mir leid. I'm sorry." she apologized quickly. "Ich brauche deine Hilfe, Kurt. Wo bist du? I need your help. Where are you?"

"In New York," he answered. "Warum? Why?"

"Ach, es ist Jet. Sie werden David ermörden! Wir müssen etwas machen. Oh, it's Jet. They're going to kill David! We have to do something." She answered, playing with her hair habitually.

"Ok, wann brauchst du mich? When do you need me?" he asked quickly. "Ist es am morgen? Is it tomorrow?"

"Ja, es ist morgen Abend. Yes it's tomorrow evening," she let out, checking her watch habitually. "Ich brauche dich morgen. Meindestens zwölf Uhr. I need you tomorrow. By noon at the latest."

There was a short silence, then, "Ja, das ist OK. Hoffentlich komme ich punktlich an. Ich werde dich treffen. Yes, that's OK. Hopefully I will get there on time. I'll meet you."

"Ok, and don't forget your image inducer," Kris said with a smile. "Vielen Dank, Kurt! Thank you."

"Auf wiedersehen! Goodbye!" Kurt gave his farewell before Kris returned the favor and hung up.

Laying her head on the pillows, Kris stared over at the open wardrobe. There she saw a black mask hanging from the top shelf. Standing up, she walked to the wardrobe and picked up the mask. Placing it over her eyes, she tied it under her hair and stared at herself in the mirror. The mask hid her nose, upper cheeks and eyebrows, shadowing her eyes in the light. Smiling, her eyes burned brightly, and she parted her lips and sang out, "Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising arms?" After a moment of looking at herself, pleased, she answered quietly, "She's right here."


Sweat was rolling in thick droplets down Jet's forehead as he sat in the stiff chairs behind the glass window, staring into the execution chamber. Only moments before had he counseled David, trying to comfort him. But he felt that his advice had been unheard, and a thick wave of guilt had begun to overtake him.

Glancing around the room, he stared at the faces of Richard Weylen's family, Dennis, and a small group of others who had to be some of Richard's closest friends. Though, one man caught his eyes more than the others. He wore a high collared trench coat and a wide brimmed hat that shadowed most of his face. His hands he had dug into his pockets, and he never took his eyes off of the floor. Holding his tongue, Jet refrained from speaking, afraid that any sound from him would cause some sort of uproar around the victim's family.

A moment later, the door to the chamber opened, and Jet watched as three police officers escorted David into the room. David looked helpless and frail, Jet aware that he probably had not eaten in days. His blue eyes searching, they came to rest upon Jet, and the young lawyer's heart ached with pain at the sadness in his client's eyes. "I'm here," Jet whispered, knowing that David could not hear him.

The door closed loudly and heavily, and the guards began to strap David's arms, chest and legs to the metal platform on which he would meet his death. Putting his hand against the glass, Jet stared hard at his friend, his tears now evident upon the edge of his eyes.

A moment of silence passed, and the officers were readying everything around David who looked around at the people through the glass in sorrow. The next moment was so quick and sudden, that Jet had no idea where to look.

Someone suddenly appeared inside of the chamber, her hair falling over a black mask that covered her eyes and nose. She wore a high collared trench coat over a close fitting black shirt and pants that ended just above a pair of raven boots that laced up the front. She leaped at a nearby guard, the long black cape of her coat flowing on a current of air behind her, and knocked him to the ground with a swift swing of her leg. Pulling out a gun from within her coat, she pointed it at the guards and shouted, "Am Boden! An the floor!" The guards instinctively fell to the ground, pulling out their own guns.

Immediately she disappeared from view, and the men did not know where to shoot. From his left side, David felt a breath along his neck, and then a soft whisper, "It's okay. I'm here to help you." Suddenly she appeared next to him, and he saw that she was smiling. In the next moment, she faded again, and he felt two hands grasp his shoulders. Relax, he heard her voice whisper inside of his head, and the next moment he was looking into her blue eyes, while the rest of the room around him was suspended in a slightly grey haze. The noise and shouting around them was loud, but she took no notice of it as she used a hand to undo his bonds, while continuing to keep her other hand flat against his chest.

When the straps were undone, she grasped his right hand and whispered, "Don't let go of me." With that, they headed to the door. She made him crouch close to her in the doorway, their hands clasped together tightly, and she shouted loudly, though her mouth did not move, "Nightcrawler, herkomm! Come here!" There was a pause, and David realized that the shouting was resounding inside of his mind. The guards were searching the room in a dazed confusion, and she shouted again, "Nightcrawler, herkomm! Wir sind bei der Tür! We're at the door!" At that moment there was a puff of black smoke accompanied by a loud Bamf sound. Closing her eyes, the haze around them disappeared and a man wrapped his arms around David's shoulders and in a moment they disappeared in a puff of black smoke. The haze returned as she willed herself back into her invisible world, and she stood and ran to the opposite corner of the room.

Another moment passed, and the man returned in a puff of smoke, and she willed herself back to visibility. He disappeared and reappeared with his arms wrapped around her waist and with a Bamf and a puff of smoke they disappeared.

Appearing inside a car next to David who was sitting in his seat uncomfortably, almost shocked, Kris smiled and said, "Nightcrawler, step on it. But not too fast so that we aren't noticed." With a tip of his hat, Nightcrawler started the car and they began to drive. Looking over at David, she cocked her head to the side and said, "Hi, I'm Kris." She held out her hand and he shook it hesitantly, his brow furrowed. "I'm a good friend of Jet's, if you're curious. But he had nothing to do with this, so don't get mad at him." David smiled slightly. She had just saved his life. How could he be angry?

There was a silence before Nightcrawler cleared his throat from the driver's seat. "Oh yeah," Kris said, coming to her senses, rubbing her throat in slight annoyance. "This is Kurt Wagner. He's also a good friend of Jet's." Smiling, Kurt nodded his head and suddenly his appearance changed. His skin color transformed from a tanned olive to a dark blue. And his eyes changed to a vibrant yellow. He smiled again at David's terrified and awed expression, and the young man saw that Kurt's teeth were sharp and pointed. Next to him, Kris was busy removing her gloves and mask. He watched as she untied it and shook her head to get her hair to fall back into its usual place.

Blinking his eyes, he thought there was something familiar about her, so he leaned forward and asked quietly, "Do I know you? Have we met before?" Looking deep into his eyes, she grinned slightly and blinked.

"That's strange… It sure seems like it, doesn't it?" she muttered curiously. Shrugging her shoulders, she shook her head and turned back to her business and began to remove her coat. He watched her in silence as they made there way to the suburbs. He then noticed that she had lain the pistol on the seat between them, and his gaze turned to one of curiosity. She saw his stare, and said, "Go ahead." Looking to her, confused, he bit his lower lip for a moment then reached out and lifted the gun into his hands.

"It's not heavy at all," he said with a strange awe. Kris reached out and took the gun. With a mischievous grin, she removed the magazine and it fell to the seat—empty.

Letting out a slight laugh, she shook her head and said, "I could never shoot anybody. But it still scares them."

After about ten to fifteen minutes, they pulled into a driveway and climbed out of the car. Kris ran to the front door of the house and pushed on the doorknob. "Scheiße, I forgot!" she yelled out, smacking her forehead. "I don't have a key. I left it on my dresser, because I didn't think I'd need it."

"That was stupid," Kurt muttered with a laugh.

Laughing, Kris lightly pushed his shoulder and said, "Shut up, Kurt." Biting her lip, she took his hand and said, "Okay, take me in."

Shaking his head, Kurt said, "Why should I? After all, I came here all the way from New York just to save your bum." She gave him a hard stare and he smiled and put his hand on David's shoulder. In an instant they had disappeared and reappeared inside the house.

Looking around, Kris gestured toward a couch and said, "Make yourselves at home. I know I have." Turning to David, she said, "This is Jet's house." He nodded. Following Kurt, David sat on the couch, hesitant and shy. He could not take his eyes off of Kurt's forked tail that was swaying placidly on the cushions next to him.

Just as Kris was heading into the kitchen, the telephone rang. Pausing, she stared at it perplexed, bit her lip and quickly picked it up. "Hello?" she inquired quietly.

"Kristina," a stern voice said over the line that made Kris cringe guiltily. "What did you think you were doing?"

Gulping, Kris inquired softly, "Professor?"

"Yes," he answered severely. "Did you think I was not going to find out? Or do you still think you're just invincible?"

"It's 'invisible', Charles," she muttered sarcastically.

"You still have an attitude," he replied, not laughing. "I thought that perhaps the German Gymnasium would straighten you up." Give me a break, Kris thought, rolling her eyes. "I'm too upset to speak to you right now. Let me talk to Kurt."

"Fine," she lashed. And with that carried the phone into the living room, shoved the phone into Kurt's three fingered hands and left the room. "I don't want to talk to you anyway," she muttered childishly as she went to her room and slammed the door behind her.

Hanging up her costume, she changed into a pair of silk green pajama pants and one of Jet's T-shirts she had snatched out of his drawers. After some time passed while she was brushing her hair, Kurt teleported into the room, his arms crossed over his chest sternly. Looking over at him through the mirror, she asked, "Was ist los mit dir? What's wrong with you?"

"Because of you, the Professor is making me come back to New York. Ich muss jetzt gehen. I have to leave now."

"Was? What?" Kris shouted in surprise. "Du kannst nicht gehen! Du hast mich gesagt, dass du mit mir bleiben wirst. Ich kann nicht allein sein. You can't go! You told me that you would stay with me. I can't be alone."

"Stimmt. Das ist mir Egal. I know, but it doesn't matter," he answered. "Ich gehe jetzt mit unserem Auto. I'm leaving with our car now." With that he made to leave the room, but she ran to him and grabbed his shoulder.

"No, there's another reason why you're leaving," she observed suspiciously. "Was geht? What's going on?" she inquired. When he did not answer right away, she screamed, "Heraus damit! Out with it!" This statement caused Kurt to glare at her.

"Es gibt keine Grunde mehr, There are no other reasons," he stated, his teeth clenched. "Ich mache, was der Professor sagt. Ich bin sein Schüler. I do what the Professor tells me to do. I'm his student."

"Und ich bin dein Schüler, And I'm your student," Kris countered, upset. "Ich gehe, wo du gehst, Kurt. I go where you go. You're only doing this so that you won't piss Xavier off."

"If you really are my student, Kris, then you'll listen to me," he said softly but firmly. "Stop this madness while you are ahead. Seeking revenge for Tina is not going to bring her or Matthew back to life." Staring hard at him, she shook her head in denial and turned away. "As your mentor I have an obligation to stay at your side, but I cannot deny Xavier. Du musst das verstehen. You must understand that."

Turning to him and grasping his hand tightly, she pleaded, "Bleib, bitte… Please stay… Xavier wouldn't want you to leave me behind like this, you know that."

He stared hard into her, his dazzling yellow eyes searching for something just beyond reach. Blinking his long black lashes, he smiled and said, "Ich weiß das. So, du kannst mit mir nach New York fahren. I know that. So, you can go with me to New York." Frowning, Kris rolled her eyes and walked to the bed, her back to him.

"Nein, ich will nicht gehen, No, I won't go," she replied, crossing her arms indignantly over her chest. "Ich gehe da wieder nicht. Du weißt das. I'm not going back there. You know that."

"Pack tonight," he stated sharply. "Du kommst mit uns nach New York. You're going with us."

Turning, she pierced his thoughts, causing Kurt to waver in pain. She shouted, "You can't tell me what to do."

With a stern glance, he countered angrily, "Doch! Ich kann. Yeah, I can! You are my responsibility!"

"Du bist nicht mein Vater! You are not my father!" she cried out, falling immediately silent after the words escaped her lips. A stab of pain showing in his eyes, Kurt looked away, slowly nodding his head. His tail had dropped to the floor, and she could see that he was fighting back a mixture of sorrow and anger. "Oh, God…." Kris whispered. "Kurt, I didn't mean that."

"Weißt du, Kris? You know something, Kris?" he muttered, his voice and accent very low. She took a step forward, remorse upon her face. Holding up a hand, he halted her steps and said, "Du bist richtig. Ich bin nicht… Ich bin nicht…You're right. I'm not…I'm not…" With that, he sighed and turned, walking from the room, closing the door gently behind him.